


And I Yours

by annabagnell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Birth, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 03:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabagnell/pseuds/annabagnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock starts labour at a crime scene and tries to hide it in favor of finishing the case. He makes it, but just barely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Yours

The first contraction came as Sherlock was squatting over the body at the crime scene. He squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments and waited for it to pass. John gave him a funny look, but Sherlock just gave his mate a smile and continued to make his inspection. 

They were regular after that, every fifteen minutes or so, but Sherlock did his best to ignore them in favour of solving the case. They weren't too painful, just squeezes of his uterus that were uncomfortable but not too pressing. 

It was when they were sitting in the police station, the criminal caught and ranting to Lestrade about how he was framed - a theory Sherlock had disproved hours ago - that Sherlock started to really feel the cramps. They swept through his belly, starting in his lower back and peaking about thirty seconds after the pain began. He shuttered his expression as each one came and left, trying to hide his labour from John. He wasn't ready to have this baby, even though he was several days past his due date and the baby was obviously ready to make its arrival. He was pretty sure John was starting to suspect something was off, giving Sherlock strange looks out the corner of his eye each time Sherlock shifted in his chair. 

Sherlock managed to power through the first six hours of labour working to wrap up the case, the contractions coming stronger and shorter between as time progressed. However, when a long contraction forced him to stop and clutch at his tight belly on the walk home, the gig was up. 

"Sherlock, was that a contraction?" Sherlock nodded, bent slightly over and rubbing at his lower belly. "Was that your first contraction?" After a pause, he nodded 'no', and John made a tutting noise and rubbed Sherlock's back as the tension eased. "How long have they been going on? Half an hour or so?" 

Sherlock laughed and at John's indignant 'what' divulged that he had been labouring for six hours. John made a shocked noise and asked if Sherlock was serious. "Yes, John. I wanted to wrap up the case before…well, before the baby came." 

"Sherlock! How are you even still moving? Six hours of labour, the baby's probably well into the birth canal by now!" 

"Well, yes, obviously. It's making it rather difficult to walk, really." 

"Unbutton your shirt. Now." Sherlock made a noise of protest but John dove forward, undoing the buttons of Sherlock's jacket and shirt to expose his round belly. "Dear god, Sherlock, it's dropped. Why didn't you say anything?" 

Sherlock looked down and ran a hand across his skin, stretched and the bulge most definitely lower than it had been several hours ago. "I was busy." 

"Yes, well, now you're busy having a baby. Come on, let's get back to the flat." John hastily redid Sherlock's buttons and tugged at Sherlock's hand, urging him to follow. 

They had to stop for two more long contractions before they were back at the flat, and Sherlock shuffled slowly up the stairs, his hips grinding as the baby working its way down made it difficult to walk. "Christ, Sherlock," John sighed, watching his mate struggle up the steps. "I can't believe you didn't tell me." 

"I was busy!" Sherlock returned, grunting as he heaved himself up the stairs. "We needed to catch the criminal, the baby wasn't going to come for hours yet. I figured I had time." 

John sighed the sigh of the constantly harassed and followed Sherlock up to their flat, progress slow and laboured. When they finally reached the top step, Sherlock was panting as another contraction gripped his middle. 

"I need to pee, I need to pee," Sherlock suddenly cried, and waddled heavily for the loo. John heard a gush rather than a stream of fluid and assumed - correctly - that Sherlock's waters had broken, his supravaginal duct opening in preparation for the birth. "John!"

"Yes?" John poked his head around the door and saw Sherlock, trousers on the floor, sitting on the toilet looking rather helpless. "Waters broken?" 

"Yes," Sherlock said miserably, rubbing his belly.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up." John stepped into the room and knelt beside Sherlock. 

"I want a shower," the detective said petulantly, wriggling uncomfortably out of his shirt. 

"Alright, we can do that. Come here," John replied, helping Sherlock slip off his shirt and undershirt and taking off his own clothes. Soon they were both nude, John standing next to his husband and looking in the mirror. Short and tall, tan and pale, light and dark, and most strikingly, compact and hugely pregnant. John squeezed Sherlock's hand, smiled, and helped the man into the shower stall, rubbing his lower back as another contraction rippled through his body. Sherlock whimpered and leaned heavily against John. "I know, I know. It hurts." John's hand was steady on Sherlock's back, massaging gently against the tightening muscles. 

Sherlock stood under the hot pounding water until it ran out, his muscles eased slightly by the warmth and John's rubbing. As they stepped out of the shower and John dried both their bodies, Sherlock began to feel more pressure in his lower back, indicating that the baby was moving down even further. John slipped a hand beneath his legs and into his supravaginal entrance, checking the detective's process. "God, you're nearly wholly dilated. It won't be long before you can start pushing." Sherlock nodded wordlessly and clutched at John's shoulders for support as they walked slowly down the hallway to his bedroom. 

John stripped the bed of its sheets and replaced them, putting a rubber mat beneath the fresh linens before helping Sherlock to climb onto the mattress. "You can move around as often as you need," John said softly. "Do you want to lie down for now, try to nap?" Sherlock nodded again and curled in on himself as much as possible, silently hoping that John would curl up behind him. 

John did, slotting his knee between Sherlock's thighs and snugging himself up behind the labouring detective. He wrapped one arm beneath the man's belly, and let the other hand slowly card through Sherlock's wet curls. "Sleep if you can. Even if you don't manage to doze off, just resting will help conserve your energy." 

Sherlock was able to get a few minutes' sleep in between contractions, but the tightening of his muscles made waking up rather unpleasant. When he awoke whimpering with the pain, John decided to check his cervix again, and was unsurprised to find that Sherlock's muscles were dilated enough to safely begin pushing. 

"Best to change positions, probably, love," he said, and at Sherlock's request helped move him onto hands and knees. The shift helped ease the pressure in his lower back, but Sherlock could tell the labour was moving forward as the contractions came stronger and lasted longer. John stayed by his side, rubbing his back and belly until Sherlock thought for sure his hand would fall off, but his doctor continued his soothing ministrations without complaint. 

Sherlock cried out with each contraction now, the pressure unbearable regardless of which position he was in, and he moved to lay on his back and pull his knees up to his chest as the baby engaged. He felt exposed, in unbelievable pain and open, but John massaged the tense muscles in his thighs as Sherlock screamed and pushed. John counted down diligently for the duration of the spasms, fed Sherlock ice chips when his throat went hoarse, kissed his temple when he cried with the intensity of the whole thing. 

John could tell as Sherlock neared his limit, his eyes glazing over as he retreated into his mind, away from the pain in a last-ditch effort to power through the labour. John was worried that if he succeeded in removing himself from the situation, he wouldn't be able to bring him back, and if he lost Sherlock to his mind at this point it would be damaging to both himself and the baby. 

"Sherlock, love, I need you to focus." 

"I _am_ focusing." 

"No, focus on the baby. Please, listen to me for a second, this is going to help." Sherlock grunted and turned to look at John. "Feel how it's moving inside you. Feel the curve of its head, the broadness of its shoulders. Feel how each contraction and each push moves it forward. I know it hurts, but push _past_ the pain." Sherlock gritted his teeth with the next spasm, but kept his eyes open, staring at John as he bore down. 

"Oh, god," he gasped as the tension let up. "I can feel it, John. Every movement, every breath, I can feel it. Help," he moaned, overwhelmed, and John moved to his side to press kisses to his temple and collarbones and his puffy breasts. He let Sherlock clutch and squeeze at his hands as he pushed, let the man transfer some of his pain to himself so he could ease his burden. 

"Ssh, yes, you beautiful man, you can feel it. You can feel your baby. Are you ready to meet it?" John looked up at Sherlock, sweat beaded on his forehead and face tear-streaked and red. He lifted Sherlock's hand and pressed a kiss to it. 

"Yes." 

It took Sherlock another hour of pushing to bring the baby to crown, a dark reddish-brown head of hair visible as it emerged from his body. Sherlock ached to feel it, and John helped him sit up to reach between his legs to brush against the wet hair. He cried as his fingertips made contact, looking at John as he felt his baby for the first time. "It's real," he whispered, looking helpless and trembling with nervous excitement. 

"Yes, it is. It won't be long now, you'll be able to hold it. You wonderful, strong man. You keep pushing, it won't be long now." Sherlock nodded and redoubled his efforts to bring their baby into the world. A few more pushes and the head broke free, and John joined in Sherlock's sobs as he looked at the baby's tiny eyes and nose and mouth and chubby cheeks. 

John kneaded at Sherlock's thighs as he pushed with the contractions, watching the baby turn with each strain and grunt and howl. The shoulders vied for position as they stretched Sherlock thin around them, and Sherlock writhed as his pushes started to weaken and the baby stayed stuck in the birth canal. "Help me," he gasped, looking at John with crimson-rimmed eyes. 

Gently, so gently, John slid his index fingers and crooked them beneath the baby's arms, and tugged as Sherlock strained. Finally, with a groan and sigh of relief, the baby slid free from Sherlock's body and wailed with an indignant cry. "Hello, baby," John whispered, holding the wet infant to his chest and reaching for a towel. He handed the squirming newborn to Sherlock, who had collapsed back against the headboard and was staring in awe at the baby. He let John cut the umbilical cord before wrapping the baby in the provided towel, and cradled it in his arms, looking scared stiff and overwhelmingly happy. 

"We have a son," he murmured, running his index finger along the squalling infant's cheek. "A son, John." 

John smiled and crawled up the bed to sit beside his mate, gazing down at the baby. "I know. It's incredible, isn't it? You grew this baby, Sherlock, inside you. A whole new human, half you and half me." The baby quieted as the warmth of the towel and Sherlock's body calmed it, and soon it rested asleep in the crook of Sherlock's arm. "Should I have fed it? Him? Should he have eaten?" Sherlock asked quietly, looking worried. 

"When he wakes up. For now, sleep is as important as food. He'll be fine."

"We need to pick a name." 

"I thought you had a list?" 

"I did, but we didn't discuss it much." 

"I liked Christopher, personally. Do you think he looks like a Christopher?"

"I think he looks like a newborn human." 

John laughed and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's sweaty temple. "Tosser." 

"We are not naming our baby 'Tosser'."

John laughed again. "What are we naming him, then?"

"I liked Christopher, too. It was my favourite on the list." 

"Christopher." John rolled the word around in his mouth, testing it out. "Christopher. It works. Christopher what?" 

"Holmes-Watson." 

"Yes, but in between." 

"James?" 

"Christopher James Holmes-Watson. It's a mouthful." 

"Manageable, though."

"Very."

"It's fitting, I think. Sufficiently 'Holmesian', as you put it." 

"You wouldn't have agreed to anything mundane, but you're right. It fits him." 

"Well then. Welcome to the world, Christopher James Holmes-Watson. It's a pleasure to finally meet you," Sherlock whispered to the sleeping baby, who snuffled lightly in his slumber and twitched a balled-up fist. 

John gasped, then chuckled. "He's got us both wrapped around his tiny fingers, hasn't he?" 

"Already. Incredible." 

"Almost as fast as you had me wrapped around yours." John looked down at Sherlock, smiling. 

"And I yours, John. And I yours." 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, or have constructive criticism, please leave a note!


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